


Cin Vhetin

by misslexilouwho



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But also, Canon Compliant, Curvy Reader, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Sexual Content, Smut, Soft Din Djarin, Violence, alcohol consumption, plus size, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29803167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslexilouwho/pseuds/misslexilouwho
Summary: You meet a man in metal armor who changes your life. Season 2 inspired, canon divergent. Din Djarin x Plus Size F!Reader (No Y/N)[Warnings: Eventual smut (18+), alcohol consumption, violence, sexual harassment/sexual assault (misogyny & sexualization), implied death, mentions of food and drink]
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, Mando/reader, Mando/you, The Mandalorian/Reader, The Mandalorian/You
Kudos: 25





	1. An Unexpected Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your life is changed when a metal clad man and his small green child walk into your cantina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally posted this on my tumblr (misslexilouwho) but wanted to share it on here as well!  
> This was the first piece of writing I've done in nearly 5 years, so it may be a little rough around the edges. I have 4 more chapters that I will be uploading, and I hope you enjoy it. 🥰

It had started out like any other day.

You woke up before the twin suns had broken the horizon. It was too early to leave your bed – if you could even call the lumpy mattress and thin linen sheets you slept on a bed. Unable to fall back to sleep, you stare up at the flat ceiling, wondering if you should make your way down to the marketplace before the off-worlders came in, flooding the streets with their vibrant colors and complaining of the heat. Tatooine was always hot, always dry, and after nearly 3 decades of being on this Maker-forsaken planet, you had grown tired of the complaints off-worlders made.

You decided to take advantage of the time you had before your shift at the cantina and threw the tattered sheets off your body before arching your back up and stretching your arms out, attempting to shake off the previous night’s aches and hearing your back crack. Your room was dark, but it didn’t matter – your clothes for the day were already set out on your bedside table. You stripped down, taking time to run your hands over your middle. The stretch marks on your skin created little depressions, reminding you of how your mother had called them your own personal Beggar’s Canyon. Once upon a time, you had wished for someone to explore your body the way people explored the Canyon, with eyes full of wonder and a sense of adventure, but you knew now that life wasn’t like the holo-dramas you watched with your friends as a child.

Finishing your morning routine, you made your way down to the marketplace, the streets illuminated by the first of the two suns as it breached the horizon. Most of the streets were empty, with shopkeepers setting up for the day and locals preparing for the long day ahead of them. You overheard a few locals whispering about a strange man who came into the ports last night, covered head to toe in metal armor. You laughed to yourself, knowing that the man would likely not get much comfort from his armor while on Tatooine. Dressing light was a requirement to prevent one from overheating when the twin suns blazed down on the sandy surface of the planet. Thinking nothing else of the conversation, you went about your morning, picking up your essentials and stopping to make small talk with the few shopkeepers you regularly saw. Nothing of importance ever seemed to happen, and that was unlikely to change because of a few whispers.

* * *

Halfway through your shift at Krayt Cantina, you lay eyes on the metal man. He came in with a small green alien, who trailed behind with big eyes taking in the scene. The man seemed impatient and scooped the child up before heading to a table. You make your way over to the table shortly after they were settled.

“Welcome to Krayt Cantina, what can I get ya?”

The man looks up at you. Or at least, you think he's looking at you. His helmet covers his face, with only a sliver of black where his eyes should be. It's a little intimidating, if you were honest. “Just a soup for the kid.” His gruff, modulated voice surprises you. It’s deeper than you anticipated, and less robotic. The kid, as he called the little green guy, lets out a coo of what you can only assume was curiosity, as the metal man spoke again shortly after. “Some sort of milk if you’ve got it too.”

You nod but raise a brow at the man. “Nothing for you?”

“Not hungry.”

“Not even a drink? Hydration’s important, ya know.” You’re not sure why you said that, but it came out anyway.

His response was curt. “No.” Not wanting to press the man further, you shrug your shoulders.

“If ya need me, holler,” you mention your name and turn to go to the kitchen. You call the order to the chef and make your way back out to the bar, grabbing a cup of bantha milk for the small green creature. Bringing it back over, you set it down in front of the kid. “What kinda armor is that anyways? Never seen armor that shiny on such a dusty planet.”

The man, who had been doing something with the armor in question (what it was you had no clue), lets out a sigh. “It’s Mandalorian armor. I’m a Mandalorian.”

That name brings back an old memory. “Oh, it’s Mando armor? I’ve seen that before. Been a while since he’s been in Mos Eisley.”

You caught his attention now. He angles his head up to look at you. “I’ve been looking for more Mandalorians. You’ve seen one here?” You nod. “How long ago?”

“Had to have been five or six years ago now. But I heard someone mention there was a guy in Mandalorian armor here few months back.”

The Mandalorian had to have been staring at you; his visor is firmly fixed on your eyes. You shift your weight from one leg to the other, feeling a little uncomfortable. Something about the fact that you couldn’t look back at his eyes made you want to see the expression he was making even more.

The silence is interrupted by a yell from the kitchen. “Soup’s on,” you smile at the kid. “Be right back.” As you turn to leave, you hear the Mandalorian grunt. Was he annoyed by your lack of information? You try to shake it off as you walk back into the kitchen. You grab the soup bowl and bring it out to the kid, setting it down in front of him. He barely reached the table, so the Mandalorian grabs the bowl and hands it to his companion. Excited burbles come from the kid as he tilts the bowl up and his head back to drink. You give the small creature another smile before turning to go back to the bar.

It was at that moment that your three least favorite people came through the cantina. Sometimes, it felt like the start to a bad joke: a Rodian, a Human, and a Nikto walk into a bar. What followed was never funny, though. You hated when they came to your cantina and had been so happy when they decided to frequent Chalmun’s Spacesport Cantina over Krayt Cantina.

They hadn’t been through here in a while, so you assume something happened at Chalmun’s to send them back here. They post up at a table and holler for you to come over, obscenities peppered in the calls for service.

You feel something twist in your stomach; you had a bad feeling about this.

“There’s my sexy barmaid,” Irshum Dra, the Rodian, smirks as you make your way over to the table. “Not as nice as the Twi’leks over at Chalmun’s, but you’re easy enough on the eyes for a human.”

“She’s always been my favorite,” Crott Roton muses. The Corellian was truthfully the nicest of the three, but he still had his moments, especially after one too many drinks. “We’ve missed you, sweetheart. Haven’t we, Nid?” He nudges the Nikto on his left, smirking up at you. Nid Chek stays silent, his eyes pinned on your chest.

The uniform for Krayt Cantina wasn’t the most modest unfortunately, exposing more skin than you liked showing, with the owner requiring low-cut clothing for his female employees. This wasn’t a problem for most of the girls, as they had slender figures and the low-cut shirts didn’t seem to expose too much cleavage for them. Being a bit thicker with a fuller chest, these low-cut tops always felt objectifying to you – turning you into something the patrons of the cantina could ogle at while you served them. It was one of your least favorite parts of the job, but since the cantina owner was your landlord, he gave you a discount on your rent for working at his bar.

You turn your head to look at the table with the Mandalorian and child, wondering if they needed your help. His bowl was back on the table and you saw the end of a cup tipped up in the air. Definitely would be time to check on them soon. Turning back at your table of creeps, you keep your voice monotoned while talking with them. “I’ll get your drinks in a minute,” and with that you go to leave their table.

But you feel something. A hand, grabbing the bottom of your shirt. “Aw, love, it’s been so long since you’ve seen us, can’t ya at least give us a little something?” Irshum pulled on your shirt, trying to get you closer to him.

“I’ve got other tables, I’ll bring your drinks over soon,” you deadpan, grabbing his hand and yanking it off your shirt.

That didn’t seem to make the men happy. Nid spat at the ground, muttering under his breath while Crott shakes his head. “Shouldn’t have done that, dear. Irsh's had a rough day and needs to relieve some stress.”

Irshum stands up and grabs you by the shoulders. “Damned girl, you serve _us_. Don’t make me remind you what happens when you’re not obedient.” He raises his hand, poised to hit you, and you shut your eyes anticipating the hit.

Suddenly, you feel yourself being moved to the side, leathery hands shifting your body out of Irshum’s range. You open your eyes to see the Mandalorian pointing a blaster at the Rodian. Crott and Nid stared, hands on their blaster holsters. The Mandalorian points his other hand at the two at the table, and you see something open, exposing more weaponry.

“You’ll leave this girl alone, and leave the Cantina immediately, understand?” His voice is gruffer and more intimidating than before. _Is he actually standing up for me?_ Using his actions as a distraction, you slowly move back to the bar, rummaging for your bag and grabbing your own pistol blaster before tucking it into your waistband.

The men look at you, then back at the Mandalorian, and just when you think they were going to leave, you see Irshum lunge for the Mandalorian. The Mandalorian shoots Irshum in the shoulder, and his roar of pain was more terrifying than anything you’d heard before as you see him thrown to the ground. Looking back at the table where the two had been sitting, you see the small green child making his way towards the quartet that were now in a standoff. Your eyes widen as you see Crott reach for his blaster, eyes focused on the child. You run over to the small creature and scoop him up, clamoring to grab your blaster from your waistband. In your haste, it falls to the ground.

“Dank Farrik,” you swear under your breath. The little guy in your arms gasps and looks up at you, seemingly shocked by your curse.

Crott eyes you, his eyebrows furrowing as he seems to contemplate his next moves. He sighs out your name, “Really shouldn’t have done that. Now I’ve gotta get you both. Damned shame, you were so pretty too.” He releases the safety on his blaster, and it feels as though your heart is in your throat.

It’s as though time slows down when you see what the Mandalorian does next. He turns to face Crott and extends his right arm out, a grappling line shooting out from his vambrace and wrapping around Crott’s wrist. He pulls back fast, and Crott hits the table before falling to the ground. As you hear him hit the cantina floor, you reach to grab your blaster but Nid grabs your arm, digging his fingers into your squishy biceps. Sharp nails pierce your skin and you let out a small hiss as blood comes to the surface. You jerk your elbow back, clipping the Nikto’s chin and catching him off guard – he didn’t expect you to put up a fight. Taking advantage of the moment, you swipe your blaster off the ground and flick the safety off quickly. You aim for Nid’s foot, figuring it’d be the least painful spot for a shot, and prepare to pull the trigger. The child lets out a squeal and you glance sideways to see Irshum standing up and going after the Mandalorian again. The Rodian attempts to tackle the metal man but is unsuccessful; despite his armor, the Mandalorian is faster and he gets a few punches in before Irshum reaches for his neck.

You don’t see what happens next as your attention is brought back to the Nikto, who is attempting to pull the small creature from your arm. You throw a punch, hearing a crunch that can only mean something is broken. Nid brings a hand to his face in shock and you decide to shoot him in the foot. He lands on the ground, yowling in pain and spewing curse words in Huttese. The kid lets out a giggle, high pitched and sweet, and you’re a little shocked to see that violence amuses the child.

With Nid cradling his injury, you turn back to see Irshum on the ground as well, the Mandalorian dragging him to the table where Crott was incapacitated. You assume he wants the three men together, so you set down the child and look at Nid, the only one still conscious. You debate going to grab him and bring him to the table but the blood dripping down your arm catches your attention.

“I, uh, can—” you stutter, and wonder if you’re in shock from the events that just unfolded in your cantina. The cook is leaning against the doorframe in the back of the bar, arms crossed over his chest and a displeased look on his face. You make eye contact, and sigh. “Kriff.”

The Mandalorian is paying no mind to your actions, as he makes his was over to the Nikto. You hear Nid try to plead with the Mandalorian, and then a soft thud as he’s knocked unconscious. The cook shakes his head and calls out, “Boss won’t be happy to hear you’ve harmed his customers.”

You shrug one shoulder as you make your way over to the bar. “What’s the worst he can do? Fire me? Kick me out of my apartment?” You pour the cheapest alcohol onto a clean rag and drag it over your cuts, hissing at the pain. “Hated this place anyways. Maybe I can make my way over to Mos Espa.”

Your coworker sighs and goes back into the kitchen as you finish cleaning your cuts. When the Mandalorian takes a seat in front of you, you stop and look at him, wondering if you were making eye contact.

It’s you who breaks the silence, of course. “I…thanks. For that. Not many people would take on three sleemos for a serving wench like me.”

He tilts his head and you wish you knew what face he was making at you. Was he pitying you, smirking at you, or in awe of you? (It couldn’t be the last one – why would he be in awe of _you_ when you barely took down one guy?) He doesn’t speak, just looking at you. “Only took on two. Not bad,” he finally says, and you think you hear a smile as he finishes, “for a serving wench.”

“First time I’ve shot someone, if you’d believe it.” The blood stopped flowing and you decide that you deserve a shot yourself. You grab a glass and your favorite liquor from the bar well and pour yourself a drink. “Celebratory shots?” You smirk at the Mandalorian, pulling out a second glass.

“I’m good,” he says quickly, and you put the glass back down, reaching for a larger cup. You set that down and grab the bantha milk, filling it up for the small child, who the Mandalorian lifted onto the seat next to him.

“Well, at least I can toast with this little cutie,” you chuckle as you set the cup down in front of him, noting the big smile on his small face. You tap your glass to his and toss your head back, swallowing the drink and feeling the familiar burn in your throat. “Such a sweet kid…is he your son?”

“More or less.” He seems to prefer short sentences, you notice. “Those guys’ll be up soon,” he warns. “Probably should leave.”

You look back at the trio on the ground and suddenly the severity of today slams into your chest. “I’m a dead woman. They know where I work, where I live…” You sigh, not sure of what to do next.

The child looks at you and coos, his head tilted. You wonder if he’s concerned for you, as you see his stubby, three-fingered hand reach out for you. He looks back up at his father.

As if the Mandalorian knew what he was saying, he nods and the two look at you. “I’ve got a spot on my ship. Could use someone to look after this kid while I’m out on hunts.”

“Hunts?” You arch an eyebrow, not knowing where he’s going with this. Then, the attire, the weapons, all make sense. “You’re a bounty hunter,” you realize, and then the first part of what he said clicks in your head. “You…want me to come with you?”

He shrugs, nonchalant with his response. “Hunting with this one is tough sometimes. Would be nice to have someone I can leave him with. Your blaster skills could use some work, but I think he’d like having you with him. Seemed to like you well enough.”

You weigh the options in your mind. Stay on Tatooine; you could try and make your way out of Mos Eisley before the men come after you, if your boss doesn’t get to you first and toss you out into the streets. Or leave the only planet you’ve known, traveling with a strange metal man and his tiny green child.

You decide you’ll take your chances on the stranger. “When do we leave?”


	2. A Trip to Freetown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and your new companions search for a Mandalorian in Mos Pelgo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings: alcohol consumption, implied death
> 
> I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Quick note: while reader is plus sized, I try to write with minimal physical descriptors so that whether you are midsized or plus sized you can place yourself in her shoes. I wanted to write a plus size reader since I'm plus size myself and wanted some more representation in fics. :)

The Mandalorian sighs as he crouches down, trying to keep from hitting his head on the short-arched doorways in the building complex you called home. While the ceilings inside were high enough for him to stand without issue, he had to duck every so often as you lead the man and his child to your apartment. Although, apartment was giving too much credit to the small place you made your own. Your building was once home to dozens of slaves, but when the New Republic came to be several years ago, slavery was outlawed throughout the galaxy and the slaves were free to go on their way. Former slave owners, like your boss, found that the empty hovels were of no use to them unless they had people inside, so they began to rent out rooms and floors to the poor saps who couldn’t leave the planet.

You were one of those saps. But not anymore.

“Home sweet home,” you say, a tint of sarcasm in your words, as the door slides open, exposing the common area of your space.

Just like the rest of Mos Eisley, your residence was barren, with few pieces of decoration scattered in the common area; the walls and floor were the same ugly tan shade that you’d grown to hate over the years. Your bedroom was in sight, but the thought of him being in there caused an unfamiliar heat to creep up your neck.

After a moment of watching the Mandalorian take in your surroundings, you speak up. “Make yourselves comfortable out here, I won’t be long.” You notice the little one is already putting his tiny fingers on everything he can. Once, you would’ve scolded him, afraid what your landlord would do to you if anything got messed up; now, you’re debating trashing the house yourself, because why not? You’re out of here anyways. “Go nuts, kid,” you smirk as you walk into your room.

These four walls had been your room for nearly 5 years, and while you were happy to leave this place behind, there was some nostalgia lingering. After losing your parents to the Empire, you tried to keep your home for as long as you could, desperate to cling to one of the only things you had left of your parents. You took on odd jobs, learning how to fix machines and ships, scavenging for scrap before the Jawas got to it first, even helping the occasional smuggler sneak their treasures into (or out of) the city. It wasn’t enough to keep your family home, and soon you lost the place that held your entire childhood. You tried living with friends, but as they all made plans to leave the small village you grew up in, you were left with nowhere to call home. Shortly after, you found your way to the former slave quarters of Mos Eisley and settled down in this very room.

There wasn’t much you had to pack, aside from clothing; you didn’t have many belongings. The expensive things were the first to go when you were trying to keep your home, not that you had very many of those anyways – there was no need for frivolous items on a planet like Tatooine, so there were very few people who actually had more than the necessities. Most of your belongings stayed near your bedside; your childhood stuffed bantha, worn down and missing patches of fur, was always on your bed, even though you didn’t really sleep with it anymore. On your nightstand was a framed holograph of your family from Harvest Day when you were 16, one of your favorite (and last) memories of your parents captured forever in this static image. You grabbed both cherished items and packed them on top of your clothing, wrapping the holograph in one of your shirts. In your nightstand was a holodisk, containing more holographs and memories of your past. You tuck that in with the frame and place it gently in the bag. The only other thing in your nightstand, you weren’t even sure if you should bring it. The likelihood of using this item seemed too slim.

A compact vibrator sat in your nightstand drawer, small and silver. You bite your lip, tossing it into your bag anyways. _Who knows what space’ll be like? Might need a little something now and again._

With your clothes and belongings packed away, you look around the nearly empty room; aside from your rumpled bedsheets, no one would ever know that someone lived here. _Until they look in the drawer_ , you think to yourself. _No way are those nasty uniforms coming with me_. You sling the bag over your shoulder, huffing a little at the way it slaps against your back, before making your way out into the living room.

“Ready to go?” The Mandalorian asks, leaning on the couch while the child babbled at him. Upon seeing you, the child waddles over and extends his arms out. It takes you a moment to realize he wants you to carry him, but once you bend down to get him, he exclaims in glee.

“Let’s go, little guy,” you smile at the baby in your arms and then flash your smile over at the metal man. “Do either of you have names, or do I get to call you both whatever I want?”

“Mando’s all you need to call me,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “I just call him Kid, haven’t figured out his name yet.”

You raise a brow at the Mandalorian – Mando – wondering how a father doesn’t know his own child’s name. Then, you remembered he never really said he was the child’s father; that was something you would have to ask about later. “Right, well you know my name, so you can call me—”

Your name comes out of someone else’s mouth, and it’s not Mando’s. You turn to the archway to see your boss/landlord blocking your exit. Brosh Brunta was human like you, but much taller, with sandy colored hair and a thick beard. His skin, which may have once been a light color, is sun-worn and tinted red. He didn’t _look_ intimidating, which made his actions more infuriating. He had a Coruscanti accent; how he ever ended up here, you’d never know. “We’ve got to have a chat, miss. You brutally attacked three of my best patrons today I heard, completely out of nowhere.”

“That’s a load of kriffing bullshit! They instigated the whole thing, lousy good-for-nothing fuckers.” Venom may as well be dripping from your teeth with the way you curse the troublemakers. Rage creeps up your neck, sending heat to your cheeks, and if not for the child in your arms, you’d be waving your arms around. For the first time in your life, you chew out the man in front of you. “You’ve never once stopped those disgusting lowlifes from harassing your employees. They say the most disrespectful and crude things to us, leering at us like we’re nothing but tits that serve them, dropping shit on the ground to make us bend over and then smacking our ass. I’ve endured plenty of nasty things in the last 10 years, but if I wanted to be treated like one of Jabba’s whores, I would’ve gone to his palace and worked in his brothel.”

“Now,” Brosh chastises you, “I’ve done nothing but give you a roof over your head and an income for the last five years. You should rephrase your words and come back to the bar to apologize to our dear patrons.” The smug look on his face tells you that he anticipated you to placate yourself and be a good employee and tenant – a good _slave_ more like it.

 _Enough is enough_ ; maybe it’s the liquid courage from earlier bubbling up in you, but there was no way you could bite your tongue anymore. You hand the child over to Mando and storm up to Brosh. Standing as straight as you can, you stare the man in the eyes. “I will _not_ be a complacent little slave for you, Brosh. I am done working for you, and I’m done here.” The blaster from before was in your bag’s front pocket, and you pull it out calmly, angling it so that he could see it in your hand. “Now,” you mimic his tone from earlier, “you’ll be a dear and move out of my way.”

Brosh seemed surprised by your sudden attitude, and you catch his eyes flit over to the Mandalorian behind you. While you couldn’t see it, the Mandalorian had his own blaster drawn and pointed at your landlord, and he was a much more intimidating figure than you were. Brosh steps to the side. “I’m keeping this week’s pay as recompence for your defiance,” is the last thing he ever says to you as he turns and leaves. A handful of credits was no major loss, as you’d been saving up as much as you could for a while. Not wanting to run into him on your way out, the three of you hang back in your former home for a few moments.

Once you were finally outside, side by side with Mando, you look up at him. “Well, where are we heading next?”

You think you hear something – a laugh? – come from his helmet. “You are something else, _atin dala._ We are on our way to find the Mandalorian you said was on Tatooine. Who was the last to see him that you know of?”

Brushing off the first part, you mention to him that one of the local shopkeepers saw him several months back. “She’s just down the road here, we can stop by her shop and see what she knows.”

You lead Mando and his son down to the stand where a weathered, old Twi’lek runs a lamta shop. “Aayl’arar, how are you?”

The Twi’lek known as Aayl’arar had an interesting history, you had learned one day. She was taken from her home planet of Ryloth in the early days of the Empire and brought to Tatooine as a slave. She danced for Jabba the Hutt (back when he was alive; you heard his second in command had taken over the palace) until a bar fight left her injured beyond the help of any bacta tank. She was cast out of the palace and became a lamta seller after a few months. She was always kind and had looked out for you when you first moved into Brosh’s complex. Aayl’arar was the only good thing about this damned planet.

She smiles up at you from her stand. “The same as always, _ma sareen_. You’re looking lovely like always.”

She told you once she envied your full figure; she was nothing but skin, lekku, and bones (as she had put it), and always reminded you that your body was a temple to be worshipped at. “You’re too kind. I have a favor to ask. I remember you telling me about a Mandalorian. Do you know where he is?”

Aayl’arar smiles kindly at you and your companions, before nodding her head once. “I had seen him some months back. Stopped here to pick up some lamta for the road. Said he was going to Mos Pelgo. I think Peli has a speeder that could get you out there.”

“Peli’s over in the hangar bay,” you explain to Mando, picking up a few lamta for yourself. “I think she’s 3-4 or 3-5, I never really go that way.” You hand Aayl’arar a few extra credits for your lamta, and she tries to hand them back to you. Locking eyes with her, you smile. “They’re for you, _ma alema_. I’m leaving Mos Eisley. Consider this a goodbye gift.”

She places a weathered blue hand over yours, smiling brighter than you’ve seen her in a while. She sends you off with some parting words: “May the Force be with you, _ma sareen_.”

–

As it turns out, Peli and Mando already know each other. And Aayl’arar was right; you’d have to take a speeder out to Mos Pelgo. Mando was originally going to have you and the kid stay with Peli, but when you mentioned that your ‘friends’ at the cantina hang around the bay, he grabbed the carrier off his ship – the Razor Crest, you learn – and handed it to you so you can strap the child to your back while you ride out to Mos Pelgo together.

The speeder was loud, and wind whipped your hair all around as you raced to the outpost. Your arms were wrapped around the Mandalorian’s armor and thighs clenched on the seat of the speeder. _People found this thrilling? What kind of spice were they on?_ You kept your body pressed against Mando’s back, eyes shut tight to protect you from any swirling sand. The child was in the carrier on your back, covered by a blanket to keep him protected. Peli didn’t have any protection that fit you, but you expected that, with her being so much more petite than you were. You just hoped that the ride was nearly over.

Once you finally arrived in Mos Pelgo, you take a minute to get your footing back before the three of you make your way to the small cantina. You and the child take a seat at a table while Mando asks about another man dressed like him. You hear the bartender mention the Marshal, whoever that was, but you didn’t have to wonder long.

Another Mandalorian comes into the cantina, casting a long shadow over the bar. Eyebrows raised, you watch as the two conversed, and the one known as the Marshal ordered a round of spotchka, shooting a glance at you and the child. The two men make their way to your table and the Marshal sets down three shot glasses. He removes his helmet to take his shot, revealing his face; he’s handsome, with sandy blonde hair peppered with grey and hazel eyes that you find yourself drawn to. He smirks at you as you reach for your own glass, not turning down free alcohol from a handsome stranger. Before you took it, you looked at Mando, who hadn’t taken his helmet off at all.

“That armor’s not yours.” His voice was low, angry. “Take it off. Or I will.”

You admit, the sound of his voice, commanding someone to strip, was sexy. Your eyes widen a little bit before deciding to down your shot quickly; you cough, though you’re not sure if it’s a reaction to the spotchka’s taste or his demands.

“Name’s Cobb Vanth, I’m the protector and Marshal of Mos Pelgo,” the man smiles at you. He turns back to Mando. “I don’t take kindly to being ordered ‘round, my friend. This is my armor.”

“It belongs to Mandalore,” Mando bit back, and you wonder what kind of face he’s making at the man named Cobb. “Take. It. Off.”

“You’re really gonna make me do it in front of the kid and this sweet girl?” He tilts his head to the side, acknowledging you and your green companion. You blush, although you weren’t sure if it was at the insinuation that he’d be stripping down in the cantina, or the fact that he called you sweet.

“They’ve seen worse,” Mando replies. “Now, I’ve already had one fight today, but I will do what I have to in order to get that armor back.”

The fight doesn’t happen, though; a loud noise interrupts you all, and the four of you make your way outside to see scurries running away while the residents of Mos Pelgo are running for cover. You can barely make out a large shape in the ground, and suddenly a beast lurches out and swallows a bantha. A sharp gasp comes from your mouth when you realize what it was.

“Was that a Krayt dragon?” You exclaim, eyes wide once more. “The cantina I worked at was named after those monsters.”

“Damned thing’s been here longer than Mos Pelgo has and takes advantage of our village by eating up our banthas and dewbacks. It’s the one thing I can’t protect my people from.” Vanth sighs, defeated.

“Well it sure as kriff isn’t a one-person job,” you muse, “who could ever take on a Krayt on their own?”

Your comment seemed to inspire Vanth. He turns back to Mando. “Help me take care of that damned beast, and you’ll get your armor back.”

“Deal,” Mando says curtly. “Get these two someplace to stay and we’ll head out.”

You and the child end up staying in Vanth’s home while he and Mando took care of the dragon. While the two men were off on their mission, you spent time with the child exploring Mos Pelgo. Not that there was much to explore; the place was smaller than your childhood village, and by the end of the first day alone, you had seen all that there was to offer. You spent time with the bartender, teaching him some of your favorite concoctions, and he taught you a few tricks to add flair to your bartending. Your skills as a bartender were likely not going to be needed on the Crest, but you wanted to learn the tricks anyways.

The second day, you stay in Vanth’s house, talking with the child. Well, it was more like talking _at_ the child, since he couldn’t really hold a conversation. You muse about where he came from, why his dad was looking for more Mandalorians, and whether they were being safe out in the desert.

It’s midday when Vanth and Mando return to town, with a plan to work with the Tusken Raiders to take down the dragon. While many of the residents of Mos Pelgo choose to work with the Raiders, you and the child stay behind, where Mando says you’ll be safe.

“Well, then you better have a good story to tell when you get back,” you smirk at him. Once more, you wish you could see what kind of face he was making at you. He’s on his way out the door when you call out to him: “Be safe, Mando.” He stops briefly, and you think he’s going to turn back to say something to you, but he just puts two fingers to the top of his helmet and mimics a small salute at you before he continues out the door.

When the dragon is defeated, the residents come back with krayt meat, and the child’s excitement is palpable. You get him some meat and watch as he devours the food in record time as Vanth regales the tale of Mando taking down a greater krayt dragon from the inside. Vanth is missing his Mandalorian armor, and you see it in a bag next to your partner. As the first sun begins to set, you pack up for your return trip to Mos Eisley. The residents sent you off with more krayt meat to the child’s delight, and you and Mando say your goodbyes to Vanth.

The return trip was quiet, and while you’re still terrified of being on the speeder, you manage to keep your eyes open, watching as the stars come out and the first of three moons rises in the distance. You smile against Mando’s back, wondering if all your days will be as adventurous as these have been. Once you’re back at Peli’s hangar, you help Mando load up the Crest and say goodbye to the short woman.

You look around the hangar, wondering if this will be the last time you are on this planet. Your heart aches for the memories you’d made with friends and family on this barren wasteland, and tears are beginning to well up in the corners of your eyes. You exhale, letting the tears roll down your face, but quickly wipe them away when you feel a tug at your leg and look down to see the child looking up at you. He coos and you smile, picking him up.

“We’ll make new memories, won’t we kiddo? You, me, and your dad,” you look over at the Mandalorian just a few steps away and drop your voice to a whisper. “Like our own little family.”

–

He hears you, and under his helmet, he smiles. The words of the Armorer come back to him, and he realizes that the clan expanded with you joining them.

“ _Allit be ehn_ ,” he says quietly. A clan of three. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Atin dala - Stubborn girl (Mando'a)  
> Ma sareen - my sweet (Twi'leki)  
> Ma alema - my protector (Twi'leki)


End file.
